


By any other name

by starcrossedgirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Community: kinkme_merlin, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrossedgirl/pseuds/starcrossedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: <i>Arthur/Merlin, girl!Arthur but Arthur doesn't get turned into one, he IS one. Princess!Arthur ftw :D</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	By any other name

**Author's Note:**

> Deeply inspired by lizardspots' awesome artwork for the same prompt, [As Her Highness Commands](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/1108.html?thread=99668#t99668), which is gorgeous beyond words! Title credit to the wonderful petulans, who lets me read out Merlin/Arthur fic to him at my leisure.

The princess, Merlin realises early on, is not at all like one would expect a princess to be. Oh, she looks the part, all right, the very picture of beauty in her rich, flowing gowns of silk, her blonde hair tumbling in waves down her back, her curtsies perfectly demure when she greets foreign dignitaries under the ever-watchful eye of her father. If servants' gossip is to be believed, she is spoilt rotten and just as conceited as one would expect of royalty, changing maidservants only slightly less often than her dresses. (And then there is that strange feud she seems to have with Morgana, which doesn't make the slightest bit of sense to Merlin. Surely women of nobility should stick together?)

No, it's none of those things that make Merlin question her dedication to being the perfect princess. It's the events of their first meeting, the moment she first deigns to talk to him, that make it obvious that something isn't quite right here.

He's busy delivering some of Gaius' medicines when she strides round the corner, cheeks slightly flushed, her blue eyes blazing in a way that Merlin hasn't seen to this day. Her steps falter and she stops, tilting her head as she suddenly regards him with a pensive look.

“Merlin, isn't it? You're Gaius' new apprentice.”

“Uhm, I... yes?” he says, because this is all rather unexpected. (Plus, she really is very beautiful.)

Then, before he quite grasps what is happening, she pulls him towards her, her back against the wall, and _kisses_ him. Not just a friendly peck on the cheek, either, no, her _tongue is in his mouth_. Merlin’s brain chooses that moment to helpfully shut off, providing no further comment than a mere “Eeep!” somewhere in the distance.

That is, until he is ripped forcefully away from those soft lips and the flowery smell of expensive perfume, and slammed into the far wall with such force his ears are ringing. When he opens his eyes there's _Uther Pendragon_ looming in front of him like some sort of avenging angel, nostrils flaring in outrage.

“This, this isn't...” he stutters desperately, but then he catches sight of Gaius behind the King, who is shaking his head ever so slightly, mouthing “No, Merlin!” The princess is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking, and Merlin decides that maybe it might be better for all concerned if he just shut up for once.

\----

“I can't believe you did that!” Merlin shouts later (and despite Gaius' repeated instructions to stay well clear). “What on earth were you thinking? Your father could've had me killed!”

“You can't talk to me like that, you know,” she has the nerve to admonish him. That annoying smirk's still on her lips; she doesn’t look nearly so pretty right now. “Besides, he didn't.”

“No, because Gaius assured him that I am of no danger to you in that way, _because I'm a eunuch_! A eunuch! The whole castle is going to think I have no --” There he stops himself, because for some reason, his brain-to-mouth filter will still kick in before he utters profanities in front of a princess.

“Balls?” she responds happily, and pats him consolingly on the shoulder on her way to the door. “Cheer up, Merlin -– at least now you'll be able to spend a lot more time with me.”

Like hell, Merlin thinks. He's going to give that bitch as wide a berth as humanly possible, starting this very second.

\---

Of course then there's the dragon and the insane witch's assassination attempt, and before Merlin knows it, his new eunuch status combined with his good heart has earned him the honour of becoming the princess' new manservant. Or should that be maidservant? He can't quite work that bit out; all he knows is that this was _so_ not how he intended his first week at Camelot to go.

\---

He point blank refuses to help her dress or bathe, or anything else which might remotely expose him to the sight of her breasts (not that they aren't on display already in those gowns), because there are just some things guys his age should not witness, not if they're supposed to be eunuchs. This earns him some temper tantrums and sharp combs flying in his direction with alarming precision, but in the end it isn't unusual for a princess to have multiple maidservants and he gets the impression that Uther might well prefer it this way. Given everything, that seems ultimately more important than earning himself the title of Worst Maidservant Ever (Merlin insists it should be ‘manservant’, these days; it's a bit of a running battle).

Not that it lightens his workload or reduces the time spent with her significantly; Merlin quickly realises that for a girl as put-together as she always looks, she rather despises the need for primping and fussing about with her hair. She doesn't even appreciate her dresses that much. The first time she insists on riding out Merlin nearly has a heart attack as she dismounts as soon as they're outside the castle wall and begins to disrobe. He isn't quite sure which is greater -– his relief or his puzzlement at her revealing breeches and a sturdy leather corset hidden beneath the swathes of fabric.

Of course, then she spends hours in the shadow of a glade, practising knife-throwing skills on a target tree, and Merlin wonders if maybe he needs to reevaluate his first impression of Camelot's princess a little.

\---

It's after one of those sessions, a warm summer's day, when Merlin's perception experiences the next notable shift. She's lying by the side of a stream, face flushed from physical exertion, her hair a mess as her fingers trail through the cool water. (And Merlin is absolutely not watching her. He's simply keeping an eye as he's supposed to -- she might be stupid enough to dive into the stream and drown, after all.)

“Have you ever wondered,” she suddenly asks, face turned away and voice unusually soft, “what things would be like if you were someone different?”

Merlin frowns. “You mean, if I were Gaius or something? Can't say I have, no. Cause that'd just be weird, if I were Gaius, I mean. Then I'd have to give myself lectures, and I really can't imagine...”

“No, Merlin.” She sighs exasperatedly, and shoots him a look that clearly informs him he is stupidity itself. “Not another person you know. Still you, just... different.” A pause. “Say, I was still me, only a man.”

Now that would be just _weird_ , Merlin thinks, because her suddenly not having breasts is just... unthinkable. And he really needs to stop thinking about her breasts so much, damn it. He's supposed to think about himself, anyway -- he can't say he hasn't ever thought about what it would be like if he didn't have magic. How it would feel to go through life, not constantly worried about exposing himself. He just hasn't imagined himself as a girl, but he doesn't really think that's what she's getting at.

“Yes, I see what you mean,” is what he finally settles on. It's tempting mock her a little -- after all, the eunuch jokes still haven’t entirely stopped -- but she seems so introspective that he decides to leave it.

“I envy Morgana sometimes,” she says, after a moment of silence. “She's taking private sword lessons from Sir Bedivere on the sly, did you know? My father would never allow that, and no knight would risk training me.”

Merlin props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at her. “What's up with your obsession with fighting anyway?” he asks, unable to help himself. “I'm perfectly happy going without it, myself. All you get are bruises and cuts, and quite probably a horrifically violent death. Seems all a bit stupid, if you ask me.”

She turns her head away, goes back to swishing the water gently.

“I just sometimes think,” she says quietly, “that my father really wanted an heir.”

And there isn't anything Merlin can say to that, not when it's the worst kept secret of the castle already.

\---

Because Merlin is an idiot, and far too soft-hearted for his own liking sometimes, he finds himself approaching Sir Owain for training sessions. So he can better defend the princess should something unusual happen (again), he explains, and Sir Owain is suitably enthusiastic and supportive of Merlin’s dedication to his job.

He curses himself a fool when his sore muscles and bruises keep him awake for nights on end, but her beaming smile when he relays his new skills a few weeks later somehow make up for it.

In retrospect it's bloody lucky that he got the idea, because he isn't quite sure her pure determination and skill with a knife would have sufficed whilst she hunted for the Mortius flower. Of course, Uther isn't at all happy with that event, so there are no chances for further practise for quite a while. She takes it surprisingly well, which Merlin attributes mostly to the adventure fulfilling something inside her. After all, she hasn't stopped calling him inadequate and stupid, so it's highly unlikely that she's simply happy he made it through alive.

At least he tries to tell himself that.

\---

Merlin balks when she first insists that wrestling is clearly the next thing she needs to learn. He mumbles something along the lines of unequal physical capabilities, but she only laughs at him mockingly.

“You’re so scrawny, a gust of wind could blow you down. I think I can handle you all right.”

In his effort not to blush or stammer like the moron she maintains he is (because those words just lead to bad, bad thoughts), he gives in. It's supremely awkward at first, rolling around and doing his best to keep a girl from kicking the shit out of him –- she must have watched the knights a fair bit to get some of those moves -– but in the end he just goes with it, and they grapple their way across the grass, green staining their clothing until she's pinned him down firmly, laughing over the hammering of his heart.

This time, the kiss is not unexpected, and whilst Merlin’s brain still stalls, it does so with a very resounding “Yes!”. And so he finds himself giving in to her demands once again, but maybe that's all right. Maybe the dragon has a point, after all, he thinks, and then he doesn't think again for a long time.

\---

When she calls him to her chambers that very same evening he doesn't know whether he's more elated or frustrated -– their snogging session did get rather heated, and then Gaius kept him insanely busy -- he could really do with some serious alone time right about now.

It shouldn't surprise him anymore that she has no patience whatsoever, and yet it's still unexpected, his jaw still drops when she locks the door behind him and strips off her formal dinner gown, crimson fabric pooling around her bare feet. Then she lifts the side of her linen underskirt, and Merlin nearly swallows his tongue as she tugs firmly and a small slip of white fabric joins the red.

“Not that I'm not, uh... you know,” he says, mouth incredibly dry all of a sudden. “But isn’t this all a bit fast?”

Which is an incredibly silly thing to say in a situation like this -- surely no other man would come out with such blatant bullshit when presented with this kind of opportunity. But Merlin, much as he hates to admit it, actually likes her, conceited self-righteousness and all, and he doesn't want whatever's between them to change just because she thinks he expects this, or because she wants to rebel against her father, or because --

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” she says. Her voice makes the hair at the back of his neck stand on end as she slowly moves towards him. Her corset barely covers her breasts, which rise and swell with every breath she takes. “I've wanted this for a while now, and so have you.” She grasps his hand, uses it to push up her skirt, and then there is soft hair and warmth beneath his fingertips and Merlin momentarily forgets how to breathe. “Can you feel that?” she whispers in his ear, and oh yes, how could he not? She's so wet the insides of her thighs are slick with it, his fingers gliding across her skin, and it's the easiest thing in the world to reach a little further, to press and stroke until she trembles against him.

“I've been like this, all throughout dinner, just thinking about what it would feel like to have you inside me, you know?” She smiles, withdrawing slightly, her hands sure and steady as she reaches for his belt. Her eyes, though, betray her hesitation and Merlin can hear the “Please don't deny me this,” as clearly as if she'd spoken the words.

So he kisses her, deeply, hungrily, and suddenly it's all too fast, a rush to get his breeches off, two sets of hands fumbling together. His boots prove more of a problem, to his annoyance, but it gives him a moment to not think about how _hard_ he is, at least until he looks up again and sees her, kneeling on the bed, arms resting on a pillow, glancing at him over her shoulder, so exposed and open he fights not to come right there and then.

He does his best to be gentle, mindful of those rumours he's heard, because as amazing as she feels, the last thing he wants is to hurt her, so he has to take it slow, slow...

“For fuck's sake, Merlin, I'm not going to break! Just get on with it already!”

...alright, maybe _not_ so slow then. That works just fine for him, because she's so tight and hot he really needs to move, nerves sparking with every thrust, her moans urging him to go faster, harder as he steadies himself against her back. Her hair's a mess around her head, her crown slipping further with each rocking motion and she's so wild, so beautiful that Merlin has to bite his lip to keep from coming. Just when he's sure he can no longer stand it, when he's so close that he can fell the tension coiling in his belly, she grabs his hand and pushes it down, rubs his fingers close to where they're joined, once, twice, and then she's shuddering beneath him, tightening around him rhythmically, and Merlin's gone, coming so hard that nothing else remains.

\---

His princess, he thinks later whilst watching her sleep, is not at all like one would expect a princess to be. She wears the dresses with grace and poise, but rips them to shreds whilst climbing out of her window at night. Her golden hair flows past her shoulders like silk, and yet Merlin knows that if given the chance, she'd hack it all off so it wouldn't get in her way whilst fighting. She might moan and bitch, but... fine, so she's just bitchy by nature, really. But most importantly, Merlin knows, she cares when it matters, would drink poison for her people if it would save them.

Merlin's thought about this a fair bit. He knows if she’d been born a boy, her name would be Arthur (though how he can be so sure of that, he couldn't tell), but he also knows that matters much less than she thinks.

He knows that regardless, she's going to be the greatest Queen that Albion has ever seen.


End file.
